Gone, Were The Days!
by latinisdead
Summary: It's 1951 and Beatrix Franklin is on her first run alone as a full midwife. You will see flashback to her childhood as her story unfolds.
1. Part 1

_The Story of Beatrix Franklin Part One!_

The fog and rain never seems to dampen Trixie's spirit or her curls, they always kept their bounce as she rode her bike through the poorest area of London. She eyes the dark black clouds over head as she catches a flash of light jetting across the sky. Not many things unnerve her, but the sound of lighting sets her teeth on edge. The bike breaks to a quick stop, white knuckled as she grips the bars muttering softly cursing as she counts the timing between the flash and hearing the roaring thunder. Eleven, she counts, it's far off in the distance that she knew she'd make it to her patient before the storm was over head.

Even in the darkest and coolest of nights, nothing made her wish or long for those days back home. This was home now; it took her a while of setting up routine and getting used to the long hours, busy days never a dull moment as a nurse and midwife. She wasn't the kind to set to rules and being organized; in fact, it took her some time to find her footing and an even keel. Looking back now, those were the days where a few times she'd had packed her bags and nearly up-sticks to the hills. Why did she stay, when her step mother has offered a trip to France? She knew nothing could change her past, but this was her present and future, no amount of dazzling trips or fancy flower arrangement courses would change this for the world.

She turns her attention back to the bike allowing the memory to fade, as she steadies herself before she pushes on. The slipperiness of the sole of her shoe from the rain causes her to loose balance as she pushes off from the ground again to resume to her patient's flat. A tyre hits a groove in the cobbles and it sends her head over heels into the pavement. She lands quite hard on her rear bruising her tailbone and her pride.

Through the rather unpredictable weather, a constable working the beat notices this accident; it's a good thing, because no one else was around being in the small hours of the night. They were near the India Docks where a lot of the unsavory fellows can hide out; this made the constable slightly concerned for her safety. Often they are to assist the nurses during the weather like this, and he ponders why she hadn't made the call, one of them would have gladly assisted her to a labouring woman. The young constable juts across the street to her side and offers a hand up.

Trixie took the hand as a lady would tries to conceal her rips in her stockings. With shaky hands she fixes her uniform and raincoat, then she finds a few loose strands of hair, and re-pins her curls back into place. She would feel it later, but she grimaces through her pain and thanked him for the assistance. "Trixie Franklin." She bats her eyelashes at him. Her disposition never fads from the fall, she smiles between winks pushing her embarrassment a side as she stood before the constable.

"Constable Kenmore, at your service, Nurse, you're not hurt?" He reaches down to help her assist with the bike noticing it wasn't damaged or at least from the look of it the frame was still in order.

"Gosh, just my pride more likely, nothing likes a good soak in the tub when I'm done with Silvia Randall." She points her head in the direction of the old buildings. The fog in this area had thinned the tiniest bit. He offers her the bike, as she climbs back on getting ready to push off this time keeping her balance with one foot on her peddles and one firmly on the ground.

Again, the flash of lighting, she closes her eyes, waits for it, and her lips mouths as she counts. "Eight!" she exclaims as she opens her eyes again.

"It's closing in, not far now maybe an hour away." The new constable walks with her as she rode slowly along the old cobble road.

She notices that he was a young man, kind of handsome, has great eyes, and a dimply smile. She then looks away feeling guilty with her flirtatious behaviour, and blushes deeply. Not often she notices a working class man attractive. She is from a different kind of life style. Yet, she couldn't help notice how he smiled.

"I don't wish to be rude, but I must ride on. I've wasted a few minutes now with the fall and I should head off. Babies don't wait to be born. Thank you again Constable for your assistance."

She pulls away quickly, but hears him, "Do be careful, you should call us when done, don't want to see you fall again."

He watches her ride a lot more carefully on the docks, before he turns back towards an ally way to which he was headed. He knew that the Men's club would be out soon, fully pissed on ales. They forget who they are drunk and can be quite crude around certain type of company. He's been to a few meetings himself, so he knows all too well how men can be even around a nurse. He sets off once she was out of sight, knowing that he'll probably see her again soon. With a simple glance back, she saw the tail end of his cape turning the corner as he cuts into the shadows of the alley way.

Onward she peddles, into the fog and rain. Normally the docks were busier at this time of night, but only a few boats were in as she passes a few fishermen docking as they pull in the mooring line. They've been out for at least a week, "Good to see ya, Nurse. Betsy is done great, same as the babe." She indicates this with a simple nod and turns the corner. The mists have thinned out a bit as she came along the first building of the larger Tenements.

The cold stone building was completely dark, all lights were off, not a good sign she thought. Lately they've been on rolling black outs due to the storm though she wonders if the lighting caused a transformer to blow. Just another little perk added to her annoyance after her fall. Some of the windows she could see a faint flicker of a warm glow coming from them. That was their only source of light. Luckily, for her, she could hear the woman howling in labour, and knew where to go by following it as it grew louder.

With a sore hop she climbs off her bike, for a second a hand presses against the bruised tailbone and gives it a gentle rub. Then she unclips her medic bag, and heads towards the flat where Silvia howls from. "Nurse calling..."

For her and the labouring mother, it will be a long night as she assesses the room where she found Silvia who caught another wave of pain this one was tougher on the woman as she pants and puffs from within her lungs. As long as she had boiling water and warm towels, she could manage to help Silvia deliver her baby safely into the world. The room was small, but everything was ready for her, the equipment on the bedside table, the water proof paper spread on the mattress, and the bedding pulled back as she helps the labouring mother onto the bed.

She was on her knees, with one free hand holding Silvia's and the other counting through the long contraction. "Oh, good job, just pant now." She coaxes the young labouring woman. "Nearly there – no pushing, just breathe," and she assists the woman again, guiding her through each contraction as they hit.

That one moment of fear and running away is long forgotten. This was her destiny; she was Trixie Franklin, your Nurse and Midwife calling!


	2. Part 2

_Ramifications: Part 2_

_1935_

_"__Ouch!" She pulls away from her mother's reach._

_"__Put your head down Beatrix." Her mother mumbles through a cigarette dangling from her mouth. "Beauty is pain." She firmly holds the head in place, as she tugs and twists the rags tightly around sections of hair, knotting it into place. "Stop squirming, it will just prolong your time 'ere, and I don't want this as much as you do." _

_She wasn't moving much, but each time her mother pulls on each section of hair her head jerks back up. "Why can't we just have pins like the other girls use in school?" she said quietly, now regretting the question asked. _

_The room she was in is small, and full of clutter, in the centre of the room was a single bed, simply decorated with little figurines and dolls from past presents. The curtains were drawn closed so no one could see in, as it was nearly bed time. Her mother sat on the edge of her bed as Trixie sat on a stool, high enough to see herself in the vanity, but with the angle of her head, she couldn't see much at all but the swirling grey smoke whisking past her mom's face. The small blonde held back her tears as well knowing that it would just prolong her agony and her mother seemed to enjoy the act. _

_"__Vey cost money, which we don't 'ave." With a flick of her fingers she sends ashes into the ashtray blowing out a puff of grey smoke as she spoke, creating tiny little rings, and in that matter of fact tone she adds, "Do you think money grows on trees?" _

_"__But it makes my head sore, and ache after a while." She whines._

_Again her head flicks up as her mother pulls tighter to the final section of hair, this time their eyes connect and Trixie wishes to blink but refrains from doing it. "You get your handwriting and arithmetic done, and don't let me see you using your left hand, or the ruler will happen. Just because your father's away, doesn't mean he wouldn't know." _

This time it wasn't the light tap, tap, tap of the water dripping outside her window, but the nuns' eerie voices singing in early Morning Prayer that pulls her out of her dream. They echo through the walls and air ducts and up to her room as she was above the chapel. She woke with her heart thumping in her ears as her dream fades quickly from a bad memory into thin air. It still happens from time to time, having vivid dreams of her past which leaves her in such a state of mind. How her knuckles ached as she flexes her fingers out of protest with remembering her handwriting lessons.

From the look of things, the electricity was still out as she tries to turn the bedside lamp on. So, she found her matches and lights the candle next to the lamp, this casts a warm glow over her face as she reaches for her cast iron cigarette case, may as well have a smoke she thought.

It took her a while after her arrival to get accustomed to their schedule and their prayers, as the months grew on she learned to enjoy the sound as sometimes she would be caught sitting just outside the chapel doors listening to them sing. Like others before her, all were welcome to join them in prayer. She often didn't bother but she would see the other nurses. That's when she met Ramona, a skinny short nurse that wore her jet black hair tucked in a French roll or twist to keep it up off her face.

They found out that they had a lot in common from jazz to smoking. Both girls would be found going to the dances together hoping to meet men that enjoyed the same things as they did. But often or not, they would end up back at the convent alone and full of liquor. They would normally saunter back arm in arm singing their favourite songs waking the staff in the dead of night.

She found her stash of hidden gin tucked in the corner of her stockings drawer, uncaps the bottle and pours enough to sip on. Since she couldn't sleep she may as well enjoy a tipple of her favorite drink. Before she pours her first drink she heard a light rap at the door, "Enter!" she calls, knowing who it was outside her door.

It was like Ramona floats inside her feet were covered by the hem of her light blue dressing gown and sits at the edge of Trixie's bed. She slides her candle next to Trixie's on the table. Trixie offers her friend a cigarette and she takes it, and lighting it, savouring the very first puff by exhaling it enjoying the way it leaves her mouth. Ramona takes a sip of the drink, sharing wasn't a big deal with these two, as she took a rather large swig of the gin, allowing it to burn the back of her throat as it slides down. She then hands it back to Trixie, who fills the tooth mug up again before she takes another swig herself. Both women did this a few times more before they had enough to take the edge of their sleepless night.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" she asks not really needing an answer.

Trixie just shrugs, but eyes her friend. "I had another one of my dreams." The smoke freely exits her mouth as she spoke.

"The hair in rags or your handwriting lessons one?"

"It starts with the hair in rags then ends with handwriting lessons."

"Tut, tut."

She heard her friend say.

"I know I should just let my past go, not easy for some." She said as she stomps her cigarette out in the ashtray.

'Trixie," she drawls as she lets out a long puff of grey smoke before she continues. "You're here now, do stay in the present."

"I do try." She comments quietly.

Ramona stood, ending the discussion but before she turns to go, she leans against the door frame, "Thanks for the tipple." She said exiting the room.

Trixie caps the bottle and replaces back in its hiding spot. She removes the covers from her bed, and slips her feet into some warm crocheted slippers made by Sister Monica Joan. Time to get a move on and start her day!


End file.
